Animate Dead Legion

As it turned out, the more one dreaded something happening, the more inevitable it became. Before long, Cassius's commanding voice rang out. "Orestes, animate every behir here into skeletal undead." "..." The lich fell silent for a moment before stammering, "M-Master, but the cost of such an endeavor is far too great. I..." Although the Scepter of Myrkul's Bones granted the ability to cast the ninth-tier spell Animate Dead Legion, reanimating undead still required drawing heavily upon the spellcaster's own reserves. Transforming colossal beasts like behirs into skeletal undead demanded an astronomical expenditure of energy. And here lay the remains of well over a hundred behirs! Raising every behir present would certainly forge a terrifying skeletal legion, but it would also drain a full third of the soul energy he had spent centuries accumulating. Worse still, reanimated undead would normally nourish the soul of the necromancer who raised them. Yet the undead raised here would have only one true master: Cassius. Orestes was at best an invoking conduit—if not a pitiable sacrifice—denied any control over these undead or any share of their soul essence. "There are no 'buts.'" "Are you suggesting... you wish to defy my command?" Cassius looked down upon the lich. His invisible draconic aura descended like a physical weight, and an unmistakable threat gleamed within his pale gold pupils. Beside them, Hart drew his long saber and rested the blade squarely against the lich's neck. "Lich! Do you dare disobey His Majesty's orders? Begin the reanimation for His Majesty at once!" In days past, the lich would never have spared a second glance for a mere newly turned wight. But now, under the red dragon's dreadful aura, Orestes could only tremble in utter helplessness. The sight of the red dragon tearing open the earth flashed across his mind once more, chilling him to the bone. He did his best to rationalize it in his mind: *It's just a little soul power... Perhaps by serving this red dragon, I'll obtain even greater power in the future.* Hart barked once more, "Hurry up! Do you intend to keep His Majesty waiting?" Orestes finally bowed his head, his voice raspy. "O-of course not, Master. I was merely considering how to raise the most flawless skeletal undead for you... so as not to disappoint your gracious expectations." The red dragon chuckled. "Hmph, that's more like it. Then get to it." *This is just a necessary price.* *This trivial bit of soul energy means nothing.* Comforting himself in silence, the lich assumed a somber, tragic air as he raised the Scepter of Myrkul's Bones. This scepter, originally intended to unleash an undead scourge across Anzeta and fulfill the task of sacrificing souls to Myrkul, was now being wielded to forge an undead legion for a red dragon. With a miserable grimace, Orestes chanted, "O bones long sealed in dust, I call upon your return..." *Animate Dead Legion.* Ghostly light flared across the bone scepter, unleashing an immensely potent surge of necromantic power. *Crack, clack...* Faint noises began to echo. Across the cavern floor, the behir skeletons trembled violently. Scattered fragments pieced themselves together and drew close, enveloped in a mist of necromantic energy that bound the bones firmly in place. *Rustle, scrape...* The sounds of bone grating against bone and grinding against rock filled the subterranean expanse. The reassembled skeletal serpents began to stir just as they had in life, slithering forward with undulating motions while dozens of pairs of bony legs scuttled rapidly. In the end, all of the hundreds of behir skeletons were transformed into skeletal undead. These behemoths—each over a dozen meters long—prowled across the ground and up the cavern walls like living beasts, occasionally tangling clumsily with one another. "I am your master!" *Roaaar—* As Cassius's will descended, over a hundred skeletal behirs bowed their heads toward the red dragon in unison, letting out low, rasping roars in a magnificent, awe-inspiring display. Unlike intelligent wights, the skeletal behirs were mindless undead thralls possessed of only the most rudimentary instincts. That these biological weapons, once engineered by giants specifically to combat dragons, had now become weapons in the service of a red dragon was an irony not lost on the moment. "Your Majesty... the reanimation is complete." The lich's voice sounded thoroughly drained, and the ghostly fire in his eye sockets had dimmed noticeably. He had clearly been depleted of a massive amount of soul energy to raise all these skeletal constructs. *My soul!* Orestes wailed silently in his heart. "You have done well." "Tsk, tsk. It's a pity that legendary storm giant disintegrated into dust. Otherwise, I would have had you pull him out of the ground to work for me no matter what," Cassius remarked with a wistful sigh. Landeta had stored all of his living power within the Eye of the Storm Sovereign; once the artifact was claimed, his corpse lost its sustaining energy and dissolved into dust. Yet the storm giant elder from millennia ago could never have imagined that such a measure would save him from the miserable fate of being dragged from his grave and put to hard labor. Hearing Cassius's words, Orestes felt a cold terror grip him. *Reanimating a legendary storm giant?! Gods know how badly my soul power would have been hollowed out! Thank goodness his body didn't stay intact!* The lich breathed a quiet sigh of relief. Cassius looked upon the skeletal behirs with visible satisfaction. These creatures were remarkably versatile: not only did they provide formidable immediate combat capability, but they could also handle mining, hauling supplies, and other heavy labor—serving as a vital foundation for his conquest of the Underdark. While such undead skeletons could not roam in the daylight, the Underdark never saw the light of day to begin with. "Marquis Hart." "Present, Your Majesty." With a light flick of his claw, Cassius extracted a bone whip from the tail tip of a skeletal behir and tossed it before the wight. "I grant you control over these skeletal behirs. They shall serve as the undead legion under your command, conquering the Underdark for the empire. Lately... those drow elves have been growing rather unruly." "Thank you for Your Majesty's gracious favor!" Hart promptly dropped to one knee and caught the whip with utmost reverence, his bloodless face flushed with wild ecstasy and raw ambition. Beyond obedience to their master, creatures like wights harbored hearts steeped in hatred for the living and a thirst for slaughter. War was, without question, the finest outlet. "Go. I have already arranged everything in advance." Cassius casually opened a portal leading toward Lakeman Castle and the Twilight Garden. From there lay another portal connecting to Dragonshadow City. That city, once belonging to Mortifer, had already been thoroughly occupied by Cassius, though it remained a scorched expanse of ruins garrisoned by only a portion of the imperial army. In addition to Hart, several generals from the Imperial Ministry of War had been dispatched there, along with a substantial number of players, all of whom had thoroughly planned for the campaign. The Underdark had few unified nations; most factions existed as city-states, houses, or isolated settlements, with various races and powers tangled in complex webs—a landscape ripe for the empire's underground expansion. The empire did not intend to conquer the chaotic domain entirely, but rather to secure a foothold, establish forward outposts, and maintain a dependable subterranean stronghold. "Yes, Your Majesty! I shall show those Underdark bastards... the might of the empire." Gripping the bone whip, Hart directed the skeletal behirs into the portal. His heart, long ceased from beating and riddled with countless wounds, surged with fierce agitation. To be resurrected from death was already an unexpected blessing; to command a powerful army and wage war across the realm was beyond anything he could have dreamed. *He wants to conquer the Underdark?* *This is an exceptional opportunity! A battlefield is filled with countless aggrieved souls—I can replenish the soul energy I lost!* Thinking this, Orestes edged forward, an ingratiating look surfacing on his decayed skull. "Master, I could also accompany Marquis Hart to the Underdark and pledge my service to the empire there. I believe my necromantic capabilities could be of great assistance in the empire's conquest of—" "Orestes, this is only the first batch of undead you are to raise." "Furthermore, sending you to the Underdark would be squandering your talents. I have... other plans for you." "Yes... Master." The lich's fawning smile froze instantly, his withered hand trembling slightly around the bone scepter. Things seemed to be taking an increasingly dreadful turn, far exceeding his worst expectations. And what did he mean by "the first batch"? Did it mean he would have to reanimate even more undead that didn't belong to him? Though a lich possessed few emotions of the living, for the very first time, an expression of sheer exhaustion flickered within the ghostly flames of Orestes's hollow eye sockets.